


slipping through the minutes

by melios (ewagan)



Category: Free!
Genre: AU, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewagan/pseuds/melios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Some say the greatest thing is to love and be loved in return. But the greatest tragedy is in loving something that cannot love you back."</p><p>Selkie AU, where Makoto tries to rewrite the ending to a tragic story with one of his own.</p><p>Title subject to change.</p><p>[[Discontinued]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. words too small

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Matty, for being a godawful enabler about anything Free!. Thanks for being so awesome bby and sharing my hopeless obsession with these boys.
> 
> Title and chapter titles taken from Richard Siken's poems.
> 
> Working title: slipping through the minutes

Every fishing village has its stories and legends, particularly those that concern the sea from which their livelihood stems. There are those who call the sea a fickle woman, who knows no master and is capricious. Some say that she is being unto herself, whereas others say she is part of something larger. And then there are the tales of things that live in the sea. From beguiling sirens that lure men to their deaths and mermaids who drown unwitting sailors, stories of giant sea monsters capable of wrecking a ship and tales of faces under the sea, there were many of them told to the children. There are those who also say that the sea is for the passage of the dead, who sail across the waters to a paradise far beyond. And there are tales of sea creatures who can take the form a human and live amongst them, which they call selkies.  
  
These were the stories that Makoto was told as a child, nurturing a sense of awe and wonder in him where the sea was concerned. They were fascinating to him, particularly the tale of the selkie that his grandfather loved to recite. It always began with a fisherman finding the pelt of a seal on the shore. He takes it and finds out it belongs to a beautiful woman who is from the sea, and that without her pelt she cannot to return the her home. The fisherman refuses despite her entreaties, and she would become his wife and bear him children. Some variations of the tale speak of other sea creatures besides a seal, but all agree on the fact that a selkie made a good wife. One thread running through every version of the story was that the selkie must never find her pelt, no matter how desperately she searches or she will return to the sea, abandoning her husband and her children. Sometimes the children will see their mother again, but more often the selkie is never seen again. There were rumours that some of the people in the village were the children of selkies, though there was no way to confirm it.  
  
These stories of tragedy and fantasy took Makoto's breath away, filling his head with all sorts of whimsical thoughts. Even when he grew old enough to have logic ruin these imaginings, he never quite buried them, instead pushing them to the back of his mind where they waited to be found again. Though his peers scoffed at him for harbouring such silly notions and dismissed them as old wives' tales, he never let them go. Perhaps he was too much a romantic at heart, but he had always hoped to meet one. And then maybe - just maybe - he could rewrite the tragic end to that story with his own. That maybe the selkie would stay instead of returning to the watery embrace of the sea.  
  
Even as he left those notions in some corner of mind to gather dust, life continued on. It went on in the sane quiet way it always had, like the ebb and flow of the tide. He learned fear of the ocean when his grandfather died in a storm, his body lost in a watery grave. He learned that water was life as well as death, creation and destruction . He learned the ocean had whims, giving and taking as it pleased, and it has cost him someone close to his heart. The true terror lay in realizing how close they had been to the village, how it was a distance he could easily swim. And yet no one had survived. All of them were men, older than Makoto and much stronger, and yet they had all perished.  
  
From then, the fishing trips where he accompanied his father had been full of dread and terror, a sinking whirlpool in his stomach he couldn't explain. They were miserable, a sharp contrast to when they had been an adventure that made him light up with excitement. How could a fisherman be afraid of the sea?  
  
His fears worsened when he fell into the sea during one such fishing trip. It had been an accident, a large wave sending him tumbling from his precarious perch on the edge of the boat. He tried to scream, to struggle but instead he froze, unable to do anything. The water surrounded him and dragged him down, filling his lungs as he tried to scream. He'd survived by some strange miracle, saved by a dolphin who had brought him to shallow water. His mother had cried in relief as she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing even as his father joined her, enfolding him in their embrace.  
  
Later, Makoto would wonder if the dolphin who'd saved him could have been a selkie, having seen the intelligence in its eyes and the way it had stayed close enough to make sure he was safe before it disappeared. But either way, he went to the tiny shrine in the village to offer his thanks to the gods for letting him live. It had been a balm for his soul, soothing the frayed edges of residual terror. The calmness and serenity helped him find a measure of peace within himself, as well as a few conversations with the caretaker who smiled at him with such kindness despite Makoto's failings.  
  
He began to spend more time there, watching as villagers came with offerings for the gods and prayers for the safety of their families, gratitude for plentiful harvests as their tiny community continued to thrive. The old man who took care of the shrine brought Makoto under his wing, letting Makoto help around with errands and chores. It became clearer that Makoto was unlikely to follow in his father's footsteps and become a fisherman, choosing instead to spend his time at the shrine.  
  
The old man sometimes told him stories about the sea, of the people who had died and the great dragons who ruled the oceans, water gods who demanded sacrifices of virgin brides and all manner of fantastic tales. It brought the stories of his childhood to the forefront again, his curiosity regarding selkies causing him to ask about them. The old man had sighed heavily and looked even older, the lines of his face etched deeper by some unknown sorrow.  
  
The old man had only gone on to say he prayed Makoto would never meet one, which only led to further questions from Makoto. A sorrowful look crossed the man's features as he spoke again. "Because their only love is for the sea, and they are incapable of loving anything else." The cryptic answer made Makoto struggle to understand. It was an unfathomable idea, that one was only capable of loving one thing alone.  
  
"I-" Makoto began. "I don't understand." Even as he brooded over the words, their meaning escaped him.  
  
"Some say the greatest thing is to love and be loved in return." The old man seemed to deflate as he sighed again, making Makoto truly aware how old he was, how much he must have seen in his life. "But I'll tell you that the greatest tragedy is in loving something that cannot love you back." The words hung heavily between them, Makoto struggling to understand while the old man was lost in memories.  
  
They never spoke of selkies again thereafter.  
  
It was only much, much later that Makoto understood what the old man had been trying to tell him, the wisdom in the words that had made no sense. But by then, it had been too late for Makoto to avoid the pain that the old man had tried to spare him.


	2. pull the bodies out the lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps it was some painful twist of fate for them to meet during the festival that celebrated the star crossed lovers. 
> 
> Title taken from Richard Siken's Crush

The night was cold, the wind harsh and unforgiving. The ocean was even more so. Makoto stood on edge of the shore and watched it silently, the waves lapping at his feet as the tide began to rise. The ocean evoked fear in him, especially on nights like these when there seemed to be a storm in the air. Even so, he still came. He came and watched the ocean as if it would yield the answers to his questions, as if he could discover how to overcome the fear that filled him every time he even contemplated the prospect of swimming in the ocean.

It wasn't so bad in daytime, when the water was clear enough for him to see. But at night, it terrified him. It seemed malevolent, as if it were simply waiting for a chance to reach out and grab him, take what it failed to take in that fishing trip so many years ago. He'd nearly drowned and it had terrified him, how the water had seemed dead, eager to suck the life out of him. He’d been saved, gasping and breathing air, not the salty water that burned his eyes and throat. It was later that he felt as if he was supposed to have died - that he should have died that day - and he cried in relief that he wasn't dead, that he was still alive despite it.

But now, the ocean still terrified Makoto at night. Even as he took a few steps into the water, he felt something in him crying out in fear, screaming for him to leave, to go back. His nails dug into the palm of his hand painfully, knuckles turning white as he took a few more steps forward, until the water reached his knees. His heart pounded a frantic beat against his rib cage as he continued walking in, clenching his jaw as he resisted the urge to cry out.

He could conquer this fear.

 

* * *

 

It was always much later that Makoto would think that perhaps it was some painful twist of fate for them to meet during the festival that celebrated the star crossed lovers. In the end it hardly mattered, since they did meet and it had been the start of the story Makoto tried to rewrite.

Though much of the evening had been blurred out by the only thing that mattered, a few things still stood out clearly. Nagisa's bright laughter as he ran around the festival with Rei chasing after him and the soft, longing expression on Rei's face when Nagisa was not looking. His mother's soft smile and prayer for him, the wishing tree that was the center of the festival. Lovers that hung their names together on the tree in hopes of the gods blessing their union, children who suspended their dreams and wishes on the branches, parents that placed their prayers for their children upon its leaves. Makoto remembered hanging his selfish wish upon the tree's branches that night, an uncertain hope he never dared to voice out.

Later that evening when he stood upon the shore again, he would remember wondering if he was right to have made that wish. The selfish wish he should not have wished, but could not help wishing for despite himself. Perhaps the gods would punish him for it, for being so selfish. Either way, his wish would hardly come true. Not when it was born out of selfish desire and he no longer had the excuse of being a child to behave in such a manner.

The moon was the only one watching when he came upon the boy, beautiful and lithe and impassive. He did not seem much older than Makoto, with dark hair and piercing eyes. Those eyes were an impossible blue and far too deep, deeper than the ocean. And they threatened to drown Makoto in their depths, the same way the ocean wanted to claim him. The boy had stared at him for a while, faint curiosity in his eyes before disappearing amongst the rocks. Makoto had followed him, scrambling awkwardly through spaces that seemed too small for his limbs. A flash of white skin every now and then guided him until they stood facing each other in a secluded corner of the beach, those fathomless eyes drawing him in.

And Makoto let himself be pulled in, his feet taking him closer and closer until they stood only a breath and a whisper apart, a space between them that Makoto was afraid to breach. It felt like he was wading into the ocean, knowing the deep, dark dangers it held and somehow finding it in himself to pay no heed, the way he never could when faced with the crashing of the waves on a dark night. But the spell was broken by a faint voice calling out and the boy looking away, his body moving with a sinuous grace as he turned away, moving out of Makoto's reach once more.

Something in his chest ached, watching as another boy emerged from the shadows and slid his arms around the first boy, an intimacy clear from the way they moved together. Makoto couldn't hear the words they said, simply faint murmurs on the wind that were barely audible over the crashing waves. There was soft laughter as they parted, the gleam of moonlight on something sleek and wet as the other boy waded into the ocean and disappeared.

 _Selkies._ The word echoed in Makoto's mind as he watched them. The boy with eyes like the ocean remained where he was, watching his friend for a few moments before turning away, as if seeking something. The realization hit Makoto as he too began to scan the rocks for a glimpse of anything that resembled a seal's pelt. It was his wish coming true, his chance to rewrite the tragic story with the ending he’d wanted. His gaze was frantic as he started moving towards the rocks, searching and all too aware he could be looking in the wrong place, but praying that his selfish wish would be granted nonetheless.

Luck was with him. Something gleamed wetly, nestled between two rocks and Makoto reached for it, his fingers touching sleek fur. He grasped it and held it to his chest, clutching too tightly as he turned around and found himself face to face with the strange selkie boy. There was a silent plea in his eyes, though his face remained impassive. And were it not for the selfish desire that consumed him, Makoto would have relented and returned the skin. But he was selfish and he couldn't help it. He shook his head firmly, the universal sign of refusal. All he was aware of was the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears, the pleading stare that said so much more than words could express.

"Haru!" Involuntarily, Makoto turned his head to see where the voice had come from. It was the other selkie boy, who watched from a distance as if he were torn between returning to the sea or coming to save his friend. It was clear from his face, despite the dim light of the moon. He made to come to shore, moving cautiously.

"Go. I'll follow." The dark-haired boy's eyes were fixed firmly on Makoto's, unwavering and intense. Makoto swallowed, but still he refused to let go of the pelt in his hands.

"Haru!" There was a note of desperation and pleading in the other's voice this time as he stood on the shore, moving towards them. Some part of Makoto's brain realized that Haru had to be his name, though it was unimportant at this moment.

"Rin, go. I'll follow." The words were sharp and terse this time, but the other boy stopped coming towards them. Then looking as if he were fighting every instinct, he turned back and walked into the sea, disappearing into the waves.

"Please give it back to me." The request was quiet but full of demand, and then Makoto was drowning in the blue of those eyes once more. It took every ounce of willpower in him to shake his head again, taking a few steps back and turning his head away so he didn't have to see the plea in those eyes. If he looked any longer, he would have given in and then it would be over. He was cruel to do this, to be this selfish and he knew it. But this time he couldn't help himself. The gods curse him, but this time he could not give in.

He started running, body shaking and feet stumbling over rocks as he headed back towards the village, a mournful sound filling his ears as he ran.

 

* * *

 

The sun had yet to rise when Makoto woke up with a gasp, shaking a little as he clutched at his blankets. It had been a dream, hadn't it? Meeting a selkie in the middle of the night, taking his skin and running away, far away. The sound of sorrow and pain that echoed in his ears. It had to have been a dream, brought about by the selfish wish he had made last night at the festival. But the silky pelt at the foot of his bed assured him it was not, that it was real. He reached out and stroked it, as if he couldn't believe that his wish had come true.

But it had and that meant the selkie boy was on the beach. _Haru._ A voice in his head reminded him. He had to bring Haru here, since that was his responsibility now. Hiding the pelt had to be his priority before bringing Haru here, or Haru would leave him. He was certain of that.

It took a while, but eventually Makoto hid it somewhere no one had reason to venture. Still, his heart pounded in his chest as he walked to the beach, searching for Haru. He found the selkie boy waist deep in the water, a seal swimming nearby in obvious distress and Haru's hand reaching out as if to comfort. The seal swam nearer to Haru, bumping at his waist gently and Makoto watched them, wondering how long had they been like this, together yet separate.

As if sensing his gaze, Haru turned around to face Makoto. Their eyes met and Makoto could feel the pull in them, the hopeful plea that turned into pained resignation at the sight of Makoto's empty hands. It shook Makoto to the core, to be looked at like that. He had never been a person who enjoyed seeing others hurt, and to know that his selfishness was the cause of the pain this time only made his chest hurt with some undefinable emotion. Perhaps he was being cruel, and perhaps he ought to relent but he couldn’t. He held out his hand and waited for Haru to come to him, silently begging. He couldn’t give Haru what he was asking for, but he could give him something else. A chance to be happy, a chance to change. Haru only looked at him with knowing eyes, as if he knew what Makoto was doing and how it would change nothing.

Then slowly - far too slowly - Haru waded out of the water. His hand was icy and limp in Makoto's, but Makoto grasped it firmly and pulled him away. Away from the water's edge, away from the ocean. Away from the sounds of a wounded animal and away from Haru's home.

This was his story and he could write it how he liked. It didn’t have to end in sorrow, not this time. As they walked, the sun rose behind them and Makoto wondered if the ache in his chest would ever go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm so sorry that I took so long to post up a new chapter. I've been busy and the last few months have been hard on me. Nonetheless, much thanks and love to all of you who have left comments, kudos or whatever. I appreciate it very, very much.
> 
> I'll be updating this on a bi-weekly basis from now on (I hope), so no more months between chapters!


	3. his skin barely keeping him inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was as if there was something in Haru that yearned to be released, just beneath the surface and it was trying to break free, an animal trapped inside a skin that was not his.

Haru was quiet. Almost painfully so. Many of Makoto's questions were met with monosyllabic answers and Makoto wasn't sure if it was simply his temperament or if it was his form of protesting. Either way, his taciturnity unsettled Makoto and he found himself chattering on about inconsequential things, trying to fill up all the silences that hung heavy over them. Even so, there were still too many gaps between the words, too many things that were left unsaid. The old man who looked after the shrine only looked at Makoto knowingly, but the words he didn't say hung heavily over Makoto nonetheless.

As the days passed, they began to settle into a kind of routine. Haru would keep his silence and work, cleaning the shrine and leaving Makoto to deal with those who came for blessings from the gods. Few people noticed Haru's presence, for he rarely ventured into the village nor did he make any appearance when there were people at the shrine. He preferred to let Makoto speak for the two of them, watching the interactions with a disinterested eye. The only time he seemed to come alive was when they walked the shore in the evenings, looking at the ocean with longing and quiet sighs. Sometimes, Makoto would wonder what Haru missed the most. Perhaps it was his home or his family, and sometimes Makoto wondered if he took something much more than that away from him. But such thoughts never lasted long because they overwhelmed Makoto with a guilt he doesn't want to face. He preferred to watch Haru and try to read all the little gestures that told him more than the other boy ever would.

He discovered that Haru was very much like the sea, that there was so much more going on underneath the calm exterior that he displayed. The twitch in his jaw, the careful, deliberate movements, the direct gaze that Makoto always had to look away from. They told him much more about Haru than Haru ever said about himself. It was as if there was something in Haru that yearned to be released, just beneath the surface and it was trying to break free, an animal trapped inside a skin that was not his.

He also found out that Haru drew sometimes, each drawing tiny and beautifully detailed. They depiction of things that Makoto has never seen. From sunken ships and beautiful treasures to underwater palaces and deep caverns, Makoto marveled over them and yet Haru dismissed them all easily with a wave of his hand, as if they did not matter to him. They were nothing new to him, only reminders of the home he no longer had. They were simply to pass the time.

Even so, Makoto would collect them and keep them tucked into a box. Sometimes he could see a face amongst the drawings, though it was never completed. They seemed to be more impressions than an actual drawing, which made Makoto wonder about the person Haru was trying to capture on paper. Sometimes there were sharp teeth, other times it was eyes that flashed with a kind of passion and earnestness that made Makoto wonder about the person they belonged to, but Haru never finished them. He refused to speak of them, looking away and retreating into silence. Makoto learned not to ask about them, though he wondered if it was someone Haru loved, and if Haru could ever love him in that way.

* * *

"Haru?" Makoto's voice echoed through the hallways, and it seemed as if the rooms were empty. Even so, he checked every room to see if Haru was there before he started searching elsewhere, wondering where Haru could have gone. He had shown little interest in the world around him, preferring to keep to himself and stare at the ocean. Makoto was faintly worried, though he supposed he would find Haru at the ocean if nowhere else. He couldn't have found his selkie skin, for that was locked in a box and the key was in his pocket. The box itself had been hidden and finding it would be difficult without knowing what one was looking for.

Still, Makoto began to search for Haru. He found Haru by the sea, silent and perched on a rock, watching as the tide came in. There was always a look of sadness and longing in his eyes, even as his face remained impassive as always. Something about the sight of him like his made Makoto's heart twist in pain.

"Haru," Makoto's voice was soft as he reached out a hand to Haru. "Let's go home." Haru only looked at him for a moment, as if willing Makoto to understand that home was not where Makoto wanted him to be, but where he wanted to be. But he took Makoto's hand and let himself be led away.

Their dinner was a silent affair, and Makoto found himself wishing that Haru would fight instead of looking at him helplessly, seemingly hopelessly resigned to the fate he'd been assigned. This wasn't what Makoto had thought it would be, but there was something about Haru that Makoto couldn't bear to let go of now. It wasn't just a selfish desire to keep Haru anymore, it was an unwillingness to let go because he cared about Haru, taciturn and difficult as he was. There was so much about Haru he wanted to know. Haru was like the ocean from which he came, deeper and full of secrets Makoto could never understand, secrets that Makoto wanted to know, to coax out of Haru.

He reached out to hold Haru, quietly terrified that Haru would reject him but Haru didn't resist - he never did - and simply let Makoto hold him. Even so, Makoto could feel him slipping away, like water slipping through his fingers and he can't quite keep hold of Haru. It made him feel helpless, wondering if there was anything he could do that would keep Haru with him.

His lips brushed Haru's tentatively, much like a child dipping his toes into the water to ascertain it was not too cold to swim. They were warm and soft, unresisting as Makoto kissed him again and again, deepening it until Haru was breathing hard, his fingers gripping the fabric of Makoto's yukata. There were no words as they kissed again, this time harder and more demanding as Makoto pushed Haru down.

The boy on the beach was nothing like the boy in his arms. This Haru was like liquid, soft gasps escaping his lips and as Makoto pressed soft kisses over his skin. As for Makoto, he was drowning and he didn't know how to stop, not when he has Haru more open before him than Haru ever has been before. Haru tasted like the sea and he was the most beautiful this way, his back arched and his hands digging into Makoto's back painfully as Makoto pushed into him.

Later, his fingers are tangled with Haru's as he curves around the other boy, pressing feather light kisses into the curve of Haru's shoulder. There was a sense of quiet contentment as they lay together, until Makoto's eyes closed and the world faded out.

Things were fine, they were good. They had to be.

* * *

The storm came with little warning, heavy gusts of wind blustering and torrential rain that beat against the roof relentlessly. Makoto watched as Haru stood in the rain, eyes closed as water ran down his face. He looked like he belonged out there, standing in a storm as the wind whipped the soggy fabric around his legs. Lightning lashed across the sky and thunder rumbled, but Haru refused to come in. Not until the rain had subsided to a weak drizzle and the storm was all but over. He was beautiful in a cold, distant kind of way that made it all the clearer that he didn't quite belong here.

 

His lips were cold when Makoto kissed them.


	4. your hands a river gesture

Some stories said that selkies can only come to shore once every seven years, some said only when a person sheds seven tears into the sea during the high tide, but all of them agreed that the selkie cannot stay- will not stay - more than a day if given a choice.

There were those who were bound with little choice in the matter. However charmed a life they led, they were still captives. The tales were all the same, in the end. They were the stories that ended in tragedy.

* * *

The storm signaled the end of summer and the advent of winter, where the wind blustered and rain fell from the sky in an endless torrent. Haru fell sick from that day he stood in the rain until he was soaked to the skin and so cold that Makoto could only wonder how was he still alive. Makoto sat by his side, Haru's head pillowed in his lap as he wiped the sweat from Haru's fevered brow. His skin, normally cool like the sea, burned as if someone had set it on fire. Haru was restless in his sleep, tossing and turning. Sometimes he would make soft noises as if he were in pain, his fists tightly clenched as his body shook. Makoto watched over him carefully, worried. He pretended it didn't hurt when he heard Haru mumble someone else's name.

The second night, Haru would not lay still. His clothes were soaked with sweat and nothing Makoto did seemed to bring him relief. There were softly mumbled words that Makoto could not make out, quiet whimpers that made Makoto's chest ache with some unspoken emotion he couldn't name.

When he rose to get more water for Haru, there was a soft noise that sounded something like a strangled sob. It made him pause, turning back to check on Haru. His eyes were open though they were clouded, looking far beyond him as if he saw something that Makoto did not."Don't leave me." The words were said in such a forlorn, vulnerable manner that Makoto's heart broke for him, his feet taking him back to Haru's side. Haru's skin was clammy and hot to the touch as Makoto smoothed his hair away from his forehead, the damp strands sticking stubbornly as Makoto wondered what to do. 

He settled for stroking Haru's hair, wondering what was it that made Haru say such words. Haru stilled, as if responding to Makoto's touch. It only made Makoto want to cradle him, protect him from the things that hurt him so. He also pretended not to see the single tear that leaked from Haru's eye, as if his dreams were causing him such pain that the only thing he could do was cry. Instead, he sang the songs of his childhood, the ones his mother sang for him when nightmares overwhelmed him. He stayed by Haru's side the whole night, keeping a careful vigil over him.

Haru's fever broke with the dawn, though he was still weak for days afterward.

When Haru recovered, Makoto told him none of these things, the same way he didn't say the words that mattered the most. The rain continued to fall steadily outside, a constant that soothed the frayed edges of Makoto's nerves as he days passed.

They fell into a quiet understanding in which few words were required, though Makoto would still speak about inconsequential things. Haru would pretend to listen, his hands moving fluidly as he toyed with his tea cup or the hem of his sleeve. Makoto could sense his restlessness, trapped in by his body as much as the weather.

He still didn't know how to help Haru. So he kissed Haru. His hard lines of his mouth, his hands that were always cold and graceful, the column of his neck, the inside of his wrist. He lost himself in Haru's eyes, his fingers gently tracing each line of his face reverently. And Haru let him, allowing Makoto to distract him even if only for a while. Makoto's touch was always gentle, almost reverent whenever he held Haru in his arms. And there was a quiet acceptance in Haru's responses, which were somewhat more willing now than before.

The restlessness remained, though their days were spent side by side as they waited for the torrential rain to abate.

There was more silence than words between them, watching and waiting as storms blew past. Makoto wished they could stay this way forever. But they couldn't. Things like this never did.

* * *

There were words that should be said, and there were words that shouldn't be. It was always the unspoken ones that hung in the air, lingering much like the smell of the rain did. They weighed on Makoto's shoulders, burdens that could not be easily shaken off, lingering in his mind as he went about his duties. So he distracted himself instead, choosing to watch over the village children and help teach them. They laughed and played with him, drawing him into their world of make believe. They also tried to draw Haru out, and he let them coax him outside to watch and to observe, perhaps even participate in their games. Sometimes he would tell them stories and Makoto would watch, captivated by the stories that Haru would tell. They were beautiful for all their simplicity, though there was always tragedy tingeing the stories.

And in return, the children would act out the stories, coaxing out Haru's rare smiles as they argued over how the story went and who should play who. Sometimes it worked out, a tiny show that Haru and Makoto would watch; but more often than not it failed. Still, the children laughed and played and added colour to their lives. And Haru seemed to grow in this time, quietly spreading out as he started to interact with more people than Makoto.

Makoto watched Haru and he learned about love, because love wasn't always a strong wave that washed one away until they were lost in it. Love was in the quiet way Haru looked at him, as if he could see through Makoto and still not judge him for what he could see. Love was making mackerel for Haru because he liked it and no other reason, though sometimes he wished that the selkie boy would deign to eat something else. Love was the quiet moments of watching Haru and feeling all was right in the world. Love was pressing soft kisses into his skin and telling Haru how much he loved him without ever saying the words out loud.

But those were words he could only keep to himself for so long. He whispered them into the nape of Haru's neck one night, his arms wrapped around Haru's waist as their legs tangled together. "I love you." He breathed into Haru's skin, as if trying to imprint the words there; as if to make it seem more permanent.

"I know." There was a quiet acceptance in Haru's voice, as if resigned to something. Makoto's arms tightened around Haru, trying to hold him closer while Haru drifted further and further from him. He could feel a pang in his chest that Haru didn't seem to reciprocate his feelings, but it was fine. He could still keep Haru here with him. There was that unspoken plea in the desperate way he'd mouth kisses along the curve of Haru's shoulder, as if trying to convey the words he couldn't bring himself to say. "Stay." would mean that Haru was free to go, and he didn't want Haru to go.

But he was finding he didn't want to keep Haru here if Haru didn't want to be here. He wanted Haru, but not against his will. If he was finding his happiness, then Haru deserved some small measure of it as well. More than a small measure, but Makoto could only wonder how much of it he could give Haru. There would always be unhappiness at what he'd lost, but that could hardly be helped, couldn't it?

It lingered in his mind for days, an insidious thought that had firmly taken root and would not let him be, not even when he scrubbed Haru's back in the bath.

"Are you happy?" He blurted out the question one evening as they sat together, drinking tea. He'd been in the middle of a story that didn't really matter when the words had come bursting out, and now he found that he didn't want to hear the answer.

Haru's answer was a long time in coming, or so it seemed to Makoto anyways. "I suppose." He replied quietly, hands folded in his lap. And Makoto let go of the breath he had been holding in. Happiness was relative, but it mattered to him that Haru was happy, if only just a little. His lips curved into a warm smile, though it wavered for a moment.

"I'm glad."


	5. running out of lullabies

There was a story of a man who had found a water spirit and saved her from death. In return, she agreed to be his wife for seven years and seven days, to bear his children and to love him as a wife would. The man fell deeply in love with his wife, and she with him. Together, they had four children and built a life for themselves, one of love, laughter and happiness. When the seven years were drawing to an end, the water spirit gave her husband her heart, a delicate thing made of sea glass. And by doing so, she gave him power over her and bound herself to him. She begged him to keep it safe and hidden, for she knew if he gave it back to her, she would have to leave him and their children. She did not tell him of its true value, how dearly it had cost for her to give it to him, nor what it meant for him to have it. To him, it was a pretty little trinket that his wife had presented him with, so he did not cherish it as he ought to have. He decided to sell it, for it was beautiful and rare and would command enough money for his family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. When the water spirit heard of his decision, she wept bitterly. She cursed him for his callousness and cruelty, taking the heart from him and shattering it. She left him and their children, disappearing into the sea she had called home. The man could only weep at his own foolishness and greed, which had cost him the thing he held most dear.

It was wanting too much, taking too much that brought about the loss of something far more precious.

* * *

Makoto was tripping over all the words that he wanted to say to Haru, but they remained trapped in his throat, like birds straining to be free and all he could do was swallow them down and pretend it didn't hurt, that he didn't know Haru loved someone who was not him. He whispered the words "I love you." into Haru's skin countless time each night, imprinting it with kisses and tracing it into the lines of his body and still he could feel the certainty that it wasn't nearly enough, that these words would inevitably fade the moment he left Haru's side. So instead, Makoto remembered. He remembered how Haru's feet were always cold against his back, even as his hands gripped Makoto's forearms so hard that his knuckles were white. He remembered how Haru would gasp softly sometimes, and the shape of his mouth as Makoto swallowed the sound with a kiss. He remembered the way Haru's eyes would close as his head lolled back, his cheeks somewhat flushed even as his fingers dug into Makoto, all the contradictions he was laid out clearly for Makoto to see.

He was the most beautiful like this, laying next to Makoto and his chest rising and falling with each breath he took, the moonlight spilling onto his skin and making him seem even more otherworldly than he already was.

Their days were lost in quiet routine. Makoto would cook breakfast for them before he went to tend to the shrine, cleaning the altars and helping the people who came to seek the gods' favour. Haru would occupy himself with the scant books they had, learning to read and his lips forming unfamiliar words that Makoto wanted to swallow with kisses. Winter was drew to an end and Haru seemed far more melancholy for it, and nothing Makoto could do would lift him out of it. As much as Makoto had learned to tell what Haru was thinking, sometimes he still did not know what Haru wanted. Haru withdrew into himself even more and Makoto fretted, for he knew not what to do.

But there was little time for such heavy thoughts as Makoto found himself busy with villagers who came to the shrine to seek the gods blessings for the new year. He set aside the thought of Haru's melancholy, though it lingered at the back of his mind the same way the smell of the light lingered once the sun had set. Haru was left to his own devices as Makoto busied himself, his restlessness showing once more. He began to take long walks along the shore, rain or shine. Makoto would often find him at the rocks where they first met, thought Haru never said a word about his pelt, Makoto could feel it wearing on him. It was more what Haru did not say than the words he did, and having learned to read Haru through the gleam in his eyes or the set of his mouth, Makoto knew it weighed more heavily on him than he would every say out loud.

"Would you go?" Makoto asked, one evening. The moon was waning, a sliver of light in the sky as they both sipped tea in quietness. Haru looked at him, waiting for Makoto to finish his question.

"Back." Makoto's words were hesitant. "To the ocean." He took a deep breath as he forced out the next words. "If I returned it to you." He trailed off, not daring to look at Haru to see his answer. But he did look, and he saw how Haru's eyes glimmered in response, though he only made a non-committal sound by way of answer. Makoto could see the answer in him though, the excited glimmer in his eyes and the way his breath had caught just for a moment when he asked the question.

In the end, Makoto found that he didn't want to contemplate such things. He preferred to press butterfly kisses into Haru's skin as he slept, their bodies entwined even though the weather was growing warmer. It was easier this way, to pretend nothing was wrong. Haru spent even more time out by the shore, often wading into the water, his clothes soaked from the thigh down. Some nights they stayed out there - Makoto waiting on the shore and Haru standing in the water - until Makoto shivered from the cold before Haru relented and they would go back. It was through this Makoto knew with a certain hollowness that he would lose Haru to the water, be it through the return of the pelt or Haru choosing to swim away from him.

One evening, he only found the discarded mess of Haru's clothes on the shore, with Haru nowhere to be found. A feeling of dread rose up in him before he spotted Haru, chest deep in water and venturing further, until he was swimming out towards the horizon, becoming smaller and smaller. It terrified Makoto, watching Haru swim and leaving him behind.

So he followed after Haru, even though the wind was brisk and he was certain to catch a cold when they emerged from the water. The water was frigid but he plowed ahead anyways, until his feet could no longer touch the sand and he was stretching muscles he had not used in a long time. He caught up with Haru, who watched him impassively, only his eyes above the water. And it hit him all at once that this was Haru, who watched and waited and let the silences speak for him, who belonged out here so much more than he did next to Makoto, who was part of it the same way the fish and the waves were.

He was running out of words he could say to make Haru stay, not that he ever had that many anyways. So he only reached out to grasp Haru's hand their fingers lacing together. It was a fragile bond in the vastness of the ocean and it only made Makoto feel small and bereft, and he wondered how long it would be before Haru would leave him.

He was certain that Haru would.

Haru's lips tasted like salt when Makoto pulled him in for a kiss, trying to keep Haru here.

Later that night, he wondered if he was asking for too much as he watched Haru sleep beside him, curled on his side and his chest rising and falling with even breaths, reaching out to stroke his hair with gentle fingers. If perhaps, he never should have asked at all.


End file.
